Chaos is a friend of mine

Thanks Bob Dylan, for that awesome quote, but chaos and I are not friends. At best we’re frenemies. We’re sure as hell not friends with benefits. And I’m convinced it stalks me like a character in some cheap slasher flick. If something is going to go awry (ooh! SAT word!), it will happen to me or my family or my house. Not negative thinking, just stating facts. If I had a nickel for every time something bizarro happened that no one had ever seen before, I could get me a cup of coffee. And maybe one for you too. No scones though, sorry.

Today was A Day. The kind of day where nothing really goes wrong, but you start looking around to see if you’re being punked. Checking calendars to see if there is full moon creeping your way (surprisingly, no). I just love sitting in rush-hour construction traffic for an hour…three blocks from my office. And learning that I have the pleasure of fixing a SNAFU someone else created long ago, and oh, good luck with that. And finally admitting that you don’t have time to prep for your 2e son’s 504 plan meeting the next day because life has gotten so out of control that you’re just gonna hafta wing it on all previous evaluations and a pot of strong coffee.

But.Come.ON!

I haven’t had a decent haircut in months. Just a trim here and there to keep small children from crying. It’s been a bitch of a year, and figuring out what to do with the outside of my head was pretty low on the list of What The Hell Do I Need To Do To Mollify 2011. But I finally, finally made the time. Found a style. Set the appointment. Got my hair washed…complete with toe-curling head massage…blinded myself removed my glasses, and prepared for an hour of silence peppered with light banter.

Enter Chaos. Seriously, I need a safe house.

Learn from me, my children. When a cop bangs into the salon shouting to get the hell out because the adjacent bar’s kitchen has gone up in flames, remember your glasses and your phone and your purse and for God’s sake it’s freezing out there remember your parka. You will wonder what you should do about the protective cape (remove it, it won’t fit under the parka) and if you’re going to be a trend-setter with the New! half-haircut. But don’t dally long, because the building is on fire.

I…need to say that again.

The.Building.Was.On.Fire.

Sweetbabyjesusinpermpapers, really?

On the bright side, I wasn’t the poor woman who was mid-facial and had to evacuate with her hair in a towel and a green mask on her face. And thankfully there were no women enduring a Brazilian at the time (like sex, that’s something that just has to be finished up, even if the building is on fire).

So, yes, wet hair and all, I and the other women stood in the alley parking lot for an hour while the town’s finest put out a grease fire in the stove hood.

Did you have to pay the full amount? Just wondering! I once had a fire alarm go off while in the OB/Gyn’s office, 8 mo. pregnant. I was so, so thankful to be dressed still! (But didn’t remember to bring the coat)